A Different Dance
by salanderjade
Summary: Once, there was a boy-a good boy whose heart was pure and true despite living in a cruel and vengeful world. And this boy loved a girl. It seems like such a common thing; to love and be loved in return. For this pair-this boy and his girl, the road was anything but easy. An Everlark tale inspired by "The Steadfast Tin Soldier"


Summary: Once, there was a boy-a good boy whose heart was pure and true despite living in a cruel and vengeful world. And this boy loved a girl. It seems like such a common thing; to love and be loved in return. For this pair-this boy and his girl, the road was anything but easy. An Everlark tale inspired by "The Steadfast Tin Soldier"

Written for the THG Fairy Tale Fic Challenge.

Once, there was a boy-a good boy whose heart was pure and true despite living in a cruel and vengeful world. And this boy loved a girl. It seems like such a common thing; to love and be loved in return. For this pair-this boy and his girl, the road was anything but easy.

Part 1: The Beginning of the End

Age 5….

He stands quietly beside his father waiting for the morning bell. A satchel hangs from his shoulder, shabby and tattered for having served two older brothers before it came to him. Still, the tow-headed scamp bounces on his toes, impatiently waiting for the summons to line up. A whole new world is opening up for Peeta and he can't wait to meet it.

"See that little girl, Peeta," his father whispers, nodding toward a tangle of bows and knobby knees. "The one with the red dress and braids. Once upon a time, I wanted to marry her mother but she ran off with a coal miner. His singing was so beautiful that even the birds stopped to listen."

Peeta's mind races with the thought that such a thing was possible. His father, however, seems to run out of words for he pats his son on the head and then falls silent. The boy can't conceive that such a thing could exist- a voice so lovely that even the birds took note. He hopes that someday he, too, can hear such a sound.

"Alright, children," the teachers call brightly. "Line up so that we can go in."

Peeta gives his father a wide smile and bolts across the yard to take his place in line. His too large shoes, another hand-me-down, catch on the loose gravel and send him sprawling. His arms flail like a windmill as he tries valiantly to stay on his feet. In this, the odds aren't in his favor. The rocks claim their victory, leaving behind bloody knees and wounded pride.

"Are you okay," he's asked by a soft, concerned voice. Blinking back tears, he looks up into mist gray eyes framed by two dark braids. Her red dress fans out like a flame as she kneels beside him in the dirt. A crimson flush lights his cheeks and he can only nod, unable to untangle his tongue from his pounding heart. She gives him a gap-toothed smile along with a helping hand and then whirls gracefully on a pointed toe to take her place in line.

He continues to sneak furtive glances in her direction. She is never still, spinning and swaying in madcap glee. A sharp voice cuts through the din, bringing order into the chaos. Peeta keeps his eyes on the girl, unable to look away as she slips neatly into place. She glances over her shoulder and gives him a brilliant smile. He doesn't know why his ears feel hot and he can't meet her eyes. He does know that she is unlike anyone he's ever met. In music assembly later that day when even the birds outside pause to listen, his fate is sealed.

Age 11….

It is, to him, the best and worst kind of pain. His cheek aches from the blow but his heart rejoices. It's worth the price, more than worth it to give her one moment's respite. It is a price he would pay again and again.

He always compares her with fire-burning fiercely with light and life. Since her father's death just two months prior, that flame is slowly burning out. His goblin of a mother, whose heart is a barren plain, could care less that his girl is slipping away. Her stone heart has forgotten what it means to give yourself to another. "Away with you," she rasps upon finding him at the window, watching his girl as she sits despondently in the rain. "She's where she belongs, that one. Even the trash is too good for the likes of her. Go on, foolish boy. The bread won't bake itself." With that said, a rough hand hurries him on his way.

Just moments and a lifetime later, he is back at the window watching as she runs brokenly toward home with the burnt loaves tucked tightly in her shirt. His heart beats in time with the throbbing in his cheek but it goes unnoticed. For an instant, he has seen life flare anew in those leaden eyes. It gives him hope that somehow she will find her way back. Yes, the chance to see that is more than worth the price of his pain.

Age 16...

His girl is on fire but it is him that is burning. Arms uplifted, she spins like a top while flames caper around her. To his eyes, she is everything. She's playing for the cameras, playing on the heartstrings of the Capital who reward her dance with adulation. For him, they are latecomers to this party. He already adores her. When it is his turn to take the stage, he confesses his most cherished secret. To save her, he lays his soul bare before the world.

Age 17...

He doesn't know the people that hover over him in the white place. It's cold and the faces he sees are no warmer. There is no compassion as they take him apart again and again, stabbing and burning in their quest to find out what he doesn't know. His shrieks and tears don't dissuade them for they begin anew with each rising. He holds fast to the last time he saw her, a dark silhouette against a faded, pink sky. She's a frozen caricature of her fiery splendor and he aches to capture it...to remember. Arms uplifted, fierce eyes the color of the smoke rising around her, poised on tiptoe as she sends the arrow upward. "Katniss," he whispers brokenly waking or sleeping. She never leaves his thoughts until they turn his mind inside out. She still reminds him of fire, her face burnt into him like a brand. As much as he loves her before, he now hates with equal intensity. He still can't let go.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

PART 2: To Begin Again

She takes a set of keys from her front pants pocket and unlocks his cuffs. He watches as she loops them neatly together and stuffs them back into the pocket along with the key. His wrists feel numb so he chafes them and works the joints, hoping that the tingling will fade. She watches him somberly, a look of desperation in her eyes.

"Don't do anything foolish," she orders tautly.

He shakes his head, secretly amused at her bossiness but trying not to show it. "No. Completely last resort stuff," he replies.

He doesn't know what to think when she wraps herself around him and buries her face in his neck. She trembles, and then lets out a soft sigh as he hugs her back. He doesn't know what's going through her mind as she tugs him closer, almost to the point of pain before letting go. "All right, then," she mutters as she pulls away. She meets his gaze one last time before slipping out the door with Gale in tow.

Tigris gives him a feline grin, pulls the hood of his cloak up and pats his shoulder before closing the door behind him. He shivers as the frigid wind penetrates the loose weave of his scarf and plays with strands of hair that have escaped from underneath his knitted hat. He draws the scarf up to cover his mouth and nose as he make his way down the street. He has lost sight of Katniss in the throng but keeps moving with the crowd. Peacekeepers stand like islands amid the stream of refugees, calling out orders over the noise. Fear hangs heavily in the air, worsened by the Peacekeepers' increasingly curt commands.

The crowd continues to swell the closer they get to the City center as more people pour in from the adjoining streets. Some carry odd pieces of furniture, bags, or bundles of clothing as they stumble along with the rest. Others have hands as empty as their eyes. These privileged few have little experience with the harsh reality that is commonplace in the Districts. They move as if asleep, glassy-eyed and open-mouthed when gunshots ring out unexpectedly. His eyes sweep the skyline, even as he cowers in a convenient doorway. He sees a brief flash of white as the shooter pulls back, presumably to reload his curses under his breath as his eyes fall on a lemon yellow coat splashed with crimson. In their misguided attempts to take out the Peacekeepers along the road, they've mowed down countless civilians. Not even children were spared.

Peeta doubles over, gagging as the sight of her vacant eyes takes him back to the Arena. Rue, the girl from Eight, Foxface with her mouth stained purple by the nightlock that killed her, the morphling from Six that saved him, Brutus as his neck is snapped right before the force field blows out. Her eyes are theirs staring back at him accusingly. They died while he lived. Peeta shut his eyes, breathing deeply as he tries to hold on. If I break now, I'll die here.

He moves with along with the masses, craning his head in a futile attempt to locate the others. It's no use. A sea of faces looks back at him, through him as they search for some semblance of safety. The only answer they find is terror and confusion. He passes two dead Peacekeepers and notices that their guns are gone but doesn't question it. The crowd is moving faster because the battle catches up with them at last.

The rebels pour into the square only to be met by a squad of Peacekeepers. The only thing to do is hit the ground as they open fire. Many don't make it, their screams filling the air as bullets rend flesh and break bone. Pods fire when triggered; boiling steam, golden light that sears and burns; mutant rats that fall on rebel and Capital born alike. The scene dissolves into pandemonium as all hell breaks loose. Friend or foe ceases to matter as survival instincts kick 's just as guilty as the rest. A man accosts him, only to cry out in pain as he bends his arm in a direction it was never meant to take. The next to grab Peeta isn't so lucky. He snaps his neck without thought, the crack of bone barely registering over the sound of gunfire in the distance.

Thunder booms as the ground opens up the next block over. People drop like leaves into the chasm below. He can't see what lurks at the bottom but hears choked off cries rising up from the darkness. A few have managed to find precarious handholds and are trying to climb out of the pit. Some drag themselves out and collapse wearily on the blood slick pavement. He spares them a glance before tottering after a Peacekeeper that is moving purposefully away from the carnage. His gamble pays off as the City Circle opens up before him. It is here that all will be decided. The Capital will fall or the District's bid for freedom will come to a bitter end.

Refugees dot the Circle like cabbages. He has no idea where to go or how to even attempt to find Katniss in the doesn't know if she's managed to make it this far. A Peacekeeper eyes him sternly from a nearby door. "Keep moving or get out," The man orders gruffly. "Have to keep the route clear." His eyes narrow and for a moment, Peeta's breath catches as the possibility that he might be recognized crosses his mind. He bites back a relieved sigh as the Peacekeeper shakes his head and turns his attention back to the street and the bedraggled line queuing for entrance to the Circle. "Don't push," he reiterates loudly. "You will be arrested or shot if you can't maintain order. I mean it. Don't make me tell you again."

People file into the open area and hurriedly claim a spot. Here and there, abandoned belongings and dropped parcels lie forgotten. The square is divided by a newly erected barrier that cuts off access to Snow's mansion. Inside the enclosure, children huddle in small groups or wander around aimlessly, guarded on all sides by ranks of Peacekeepers. Abruptly, the relative quiet is shattered as Rebels charge into the Circle. The Peacekeepers stand firm, firing over the huddled masses as screams and acrid smoke fills the air. The hovercraft appears as if from nowhere, a hail of silver parachutes falling in its wake. When the bombs go off, Peeta falls to his knees as the blackness threatens to overtake him. Just a glimpse of the carnage inside the barrier is enough to take him back. Their blood paints the snow red, droplets fanning out in ever widening arcs. It spatters like rain…like rain. God help me. I can't go back there again.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

He runs from the shadows, straight into madness. It is a scene he is intimately familiar with. His eyes dart frantically around the square, searching for one face amid hundreds. Just a glimpse. That's all he wants. Something to prove that she is still alright and that he isn't too late. There. Moving fast. Running pell mell right into the heart of the flames toward a small figure that seems to be calling her name. He hears her shriek above the din. One word that shatters the air like a blow. PRIM! Oh God! He thinks. Not her, not her. Please, God, not her. He sees the two collide and merge, and then the fire swallows them both.

An errant memory breaks loose and slams into him with the force of a battering ram, "You should wear flames more often. They suit you." His own voice thunders in his head. Screaming, he throws himself forward, unmindful of the heat that clamps down like a vise.

The smaller of the two, she is gone. Katniss is a swirling maelstrom that pulls the flames in and pushes them back out in lines that mirror her every move. They wrap her up and hold her close. They caress her as a lover would. No part of her is left untouched. Her brow, her hands, the long line of her back. Scorching kisses paint with a delicate hand. Her shouts beat against the listless sky, reverberating in his ears until no other sound can get through. I have to get her out. I can't let go…not now. Not yet.

He finally reaches her and pushes her to the pavement, smothering the flames that consume her with his body. The brief flash of warmth is sudden and sharp. It causes him to wince as charred cloth grates against tender flesh. He doesn't concern himself with his own state. It's her that needs attention right now. She fights him, arms flailing and legs thrashing weakly. "Prim, let me go," she gasps breathlessly. The words shock him back to awareness. She fights for air much like a fish out of water. Her hands reach aimlessly out and he takes them gently between his own. He holds them as tightly as he can, trying to comfort her the only way he knows how. "Let me die," she whispers. "Let me follow the others." He wordlessly shakes his head. He can't give her that. Anything and everything else, but not that.

Raised voices fill up the air around them. Something blessedly cool pours over him, running down his face and soaking what's left of his coat. "Let go," an unfamiliar voice demands insistently. "We need to see how badly you are injured. Please, Peeta. Let go."

He can only shake his head. He can't let go. If he lets go first then she will and he'll never get her back. The sharp prick of a needle entering his vein followed by the spreading warmth of morphling takes him under. His arms loosen but still keep her tucked tightly against his chest. Her name is on his lips when the darkness finally claims him.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

The squad assigned to City Circle faces a daunting task. The Circle took the brunt of the Rebels' final push through the City. Restoring order won't be easy nor will it be quickly done. Bodies litter the street along with shattered remains of the concrete barriers that were ripped asunder by the doubly exploding bombs. The attack had been brutally efficient.

An unnamed corporal pokes idly through the rubble, shifting the larger pieces aside as he searches for salvageable ordnance. Shortages are running rampant in the Capital as well as in the outlying districts. It will take years to get back to anything resembling normal. Some districts will never fully recover. It's just another casualty of the war. He skirts the edge of the barricade, stepping carefully to avoid potholes and loose stones. A glint of metal catches his eye so he stoops and gently brushes away pebbles and dust until he can see it more clearly.

He catches a glimpse of a smaller piece made of a duller, thicker material than the first. Taking out his canteen, he gives them a hasty cleaning. What he finds causes him to catch his breath. The first is a handcuff which dangles from a short length of chain. The other is mysteriously absent. The metal is dark and discolored, warped by the heat of the blaze. A rough heart shape is all that remains. The other is a pin in the shape of a bird. Its bowed head and outstretched wings are as distinctive as the arrow it clutches tightly. Katniss Everdeen's mockingjay.

He will never know if it is her pin. Rumor has it that she was in the square when the bombs fell, as was Peeta Mellark. He finds it unbelievable that Command would risk the star-crossed lovers on the front line. It's just a coincidence, he decides. Wrapping the pin and heart carefully in a handkerchief, he tucks them into his pack. There's still a lot of ground to cover before dark.

It ends…..


End file.
